My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho

by Susanne Dietze

  “Sure thing, Fordham.”

  Mr. Fordham smiled down at her. “Miss Rice, would you care to take a walk first?”

  “A walk would be agreeable.” Her muscles were stiff from sitting in the jostling coach, and the time to get to know him better would be welcome, too. So would the opportunity to speak without an audience. He offered his arm. It felt firm and pleasant under her hand.

  “Aw, you can talk right here.” An eavesdropping fellow with gray-brown hair and too-big britches hanging from stained suspenders shook a grimy finger at them. “You don’t want to lose track of time and miss Orr.”

  “Orr?” Rebecca couldn’t remember if Mr. Fordham had written of the fellow.

  “The justice of the peace.”

  Oh, yes. The circuit preacher wasn’t in town but once every season, and no church had been built.

  “Thanks, Ulysses,” Mr. Fordham said to the eavesdropper.

  “Can I come to the weddin’?” Ulysses yelled after them.

  “Maybe,” Mr. Fordham said over his shoulder as he led her back the way she’d come, past the end of the street and rows of miners’ tents to a canopy of junipers. Along the way, he asked about the trip and noted the promise of rain in the thunderheads to the west—nothing too personal. If his intention was to set her at ease, he did a good job, for she almost forgot the awkwardness of the situation. In minutes, they stood by a gurgling creek, where purple wildflowers and white-blooming bushes thrived among the grass.

  “Lovely.” Rebecca took a deep breath. The world smelled like spring—grass and flowers and the lingering scent of sage. “I can see why you love it here.”

  “It’ll be cold, come winter.” He said it like a warning, as if giving her an excuse to back out of their engagement.

  But she’d given her word, and she had nowhere else to go. No home or job back in Missouri to return to, and she wasn’t sure if her brother Johnny still lived at that California mining camp anymore. Now that she’d met her Mr. Fordham in person, however, she knew this was where she was meant to be. With him, wherever that was.

  So she smiled. “You’ve got access to a stove, don’t you?”

  “I do, at that.” He laughed, a pleasant sound she wouldn’t mind hearing for decades.

  Rebecca moistened her lips. “I’m fine with it, by the way. Marrying fast, like we discussed. If you still wish it.”

  “I do.” The way he said it was like a vow. He didn’t know her beyond their letters, couldn’t possibly love her yet, but he intended to be a good husband and provider. And maybe, just maybe, he saw her and liked her as much as she liked him. “But it doesn’t have to be today. Orr will be back in a day or two, if you’d rather wait.”

  She shook her head. “Today is perfect.”

  Withdrawing a small knife from his pocket, he bent and snipped several clusters of purple and white flowers. For her?

  Silly. Who else would they be for?

  No one had ever given her flowers.

  He smiled. “Anything you want to know about me, beforehand?”

  “I already know your age.” Twenty-six, four years older than her twenty-two. “And your favorite food.” Pork and apples. “And how you came to Idaho a few years ago when your pa and uncle decided to go into the livery business.” But his pa was dead now, leaving him lonesome. “I know you love God and want good things for this town, which I admire.”

  He held a bouquet the diameter of a dessert plate fisted in his hand, but it was his solemn expression which turned her leg bones to jam. “And I know things have been rough on you, but I’ll spend my life trying to make you happy.”

  It took her a minute to gather the breath to speak. “I’ll try hard to make you happy, too.”

  He handed her the bouquet, and when she took it, it felt like he could see straight into her heart. Embarrassed, she sniffed the flowers, finding them sweet and piquant, like orange blossoms. His forefinger brushed the wayward strand of her hair from her cheek. “You’re a beautiful bride, Miss Rice.”

  She was in desperate need of soap and he was a sweet talker. But she liked it and couldn’t hide her smile.

  His mischievous grin drew out his dimples again. “I’ll take us around back so we don’t have an audience for our vows, unless you want Ulysses to come after all.”

  “No, a quiet wedding suits me fine.”

  He took her hand and they ran, laughing like children. He led her behind the row of buildings and stopped at a back door. Without knocking, he ushered her inside.

  Rebecca blinked, adjusting to the dim after being out in the sun. Slowly, the office came into focus: four tidy desks with chairs, filing cabinets, and little in the way of decor. A door to her right opened onto what looked to be a closet with crates in it; a door to her left held two jail cells. Ah. The justice shared space with the sheriff, then.

  Before she had time to blink, a black-haired fellow with a paunch under his vest and an impish gleam in his eye strode around one of the desks, extending his hand.

  “Ahab Orr, Justice of the Peace.” His grip was firm and his southern accent was thick as molasses. “Nice to meet you, Miss Rice.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Ever’body knows. This groom o’ yours has been most impatient. Y’all ready, now? Hate to rush you, but I’ve got to be in Silver City before sunset.”

  “One minute, Orr.” Mr. Fordham took her bouquet and leaned into her ear. “I meant it, you’re pretty as you are, but if you need a moment, there’s a washstand through that door.”

  She cast him a grateful smile and disappeared into the closet with the crates while Mr. Orr said something about needing a witness for the ceremony. Half the tiny room stored cartons and boxes, but the other half boasted a cot, a washstand, and a blessedly full pitcher of water. She made use of the bar of soap, washing her hands and face and blotting the bloodstain on her sleeve. She removed her bonnet, combed her hair with her fingers, and repinned the bun at her nape. Then she poured a cup of what water remained in the pitcher. Maybe it was the dust on the trail or her overwrought nerves, but it was the most delicious water she’d ever tasted. When she returned to the office, a lanky youth rocked on his heels by the door—the witness to her wedding.

  “A lovely bride.” Mr. Orr waved her over. “Do you go by a nickname, ma’am? Becky or anything? Because I like to use the name folks call you when I officiate your marriage. Makes it more real to you.”

  It made sense. “No one’s ever called me Becky. Rebecca is fine.”

  “And your middle names, folks?”

  “Mary.”

  “Percival. My maternal grandfather’s name,” her groom explained with a smile.

  “I like it.” It sounded chivalrous. Wasn’t Sir Percival one of King Arthur’s knights?

  “Stand here.” Mr. Orr pointed.

  She set her bonnet on a desk. They took their places as Mr. Orr picked up a book and she took the bouquet from Mr. Fordham. After a few words, Mr. Orr stared down at her with a solemn expression. “Do you, Rebecca Mary Rice, take Tad Percival Fordham to be your lawful husband—”

  Tad? Oh—Mr. Orr must have said Ted. A common nickname for Theodore, and one her groom must go by. It just sounded off because of Mr. Orr’s thick accent. A flutter of nerves flurried up her spine. My Ted.

  “I do.”

  “And do you, Tad—”

  Ted.

  “—take Rebecca Mary Rice, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, keeping yourself only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

  “I do.” There was his dimple again.

  Ted pulled a ring from his pocket, a pretty opal nestled atop a gold band, and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand. It slipped off-center of her finger, a bit too large, but it was the most gorgeous thing Rebecca had ever seen, much less hoped to own.

  “Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.” Mr. Orr talked over her amazement. “Go on, now, kiss yer bride.”


  Ted’s hands went to her shoulders and he leaned in to kiss her. The pressure of his lips against hers was gentle, but firm, as if sealing a promise. He pulled back. A perfectly decent, chaste kiss, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed it was over.

  Then he kissed her again. Just as gentle, just as sweet, but this one sent a jolt of lightning through her bones, from her skull to her toes. When he pulled back this time, his eyes were wide.

  So the kiss had affected him, too.

  “Come on, then, sign the register. Sun’s goin’ down.”

  Ted blinked. “Sure thing.”

  Rebecca giggled. She was married! To him! She may have been robbed and threatened a few hours ago, but she’d actually forgotten it during the ceremony.

  Ted led her to Mr. Orr’s desk. His scrawl was inelegant; all she could read was the Th of his first name and the F of Fordham. His mark didn’t resemble his signature when he signed his correspondence to her, but there was often a difference between one’s penmanship and one’s official mark. He handed her the pen, and she dipped it into the inkwell and signed her name in her precise hand.

  Then the lanky witness took up the pen. “Congratulations, ma’am. Deputy.”

  She almost missed it, so dazzled was she by her new husband’s smile. But once the word settled into her brain, it echoed like a yodel off the mountains. “Deputy?”

  “What’s that, my bride?” Ted was shaking Mr. Orr’s hand.

  “You’re not a deputy.” Her throat gurgled on the word.

  He opened his coat, revealing a broad chest clothed in a plaid vest. A golden star-shaped pin was fixed over his heart. “You don’t remember?”

  “I’d remember a thing like that.” And she would’ve turned down his proposal of marriage, flat as a flapjack.

  How could this be happening? Not ten minutes ago, she’d known she was home at last—here, with this man. But she’d never been more wrong. Her chest ached. Everything ached. She stepped back. “You never told me. Or—I didn’t get that letter.”

  “Uh-oh,” the witness murmured.

  “I mentioned it in every letter I wrote.” Ted’s jaw clenched, as if he was unhappy to have their first argument in the hearing of others. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

  “You did not tell me. You lied in your letters, and you’re lying now.”

  “Wait up, ma’am.” Mr. Orr smiled. Didn’t he understand how terrible the situation was? “Our deputy’s as good as they come.”

  Ah. Cronyism. Or a conspiracy. She was the newcomer against a corrupt city government. Well, she’d not be swept into this—whatever this was. “I have been deceived. If you represent the law, Mr. Orr, I demand you help me or direct me to someone who will. This marriage is invalid, due to fraud.”

  “I didn’t mislead you.” A flash of anger darkened Ted’s eyes. “But you’re singing a different tune than you did in your letters. You told me you thought my being a deputy a noble calling. See?” He pulled a few letters from his inner coat pocket and held them out. As if they were tainted with arsenic, she held them by the edges, just enough to read the envelopes, which were all the same. Addressed to Mr. Thaddeus Fordham of Ruby City, from Miss Rebekah Rhys of Kansas.

  So that was why he’d asked if she was Miss Reese. When she corrected him, he’d probably thought Rhys was pronounced Rice…and she and this other woman shared the same Christian name. Just a different spelling.

  Her extremities went cold. He was indeed Tad, not her Ted. She handed the letters back. “I am sorry I called you a liar, D–deputy, but there seems to have been a mistake.”

  “A what?” It wasn’t a question. He folded his arms.

  “I’m not your Rebekah. Those aren’t my letters. I’m supposed to marry Theodore Fordham. Do you know him?”

  Mr. Orr hooted, but something like loss softened the edges around Tad’s hazel eyes.

  Someone smacked the front door. “Orr. Need your services. Heard tell my bride came in on the stage. Orr?”

  “Come on in,” Mr. Orr hollered, sounding like he was enjoying himself.

  A sick sensation swirled in Rebecca’s empty stomach as a gentleman in a tidy coat strode into Orr’s office. Brown hair. Medium build. Hazel eyes. And when his gaze found her, he smiled—a dimple-free smile—until he saw the man standing beside her.

  “Tad, what’re you doing here?”

  “That’s a fine howdy-do for your intended,” Tad grumbled.

  “So it’s you?” The man looked back at her. “Rebecca Rice?”

  “Allow me to introduce you.” Mr. Orr stepped between them and grinned. “Theodore Fordham, cousin of Thaddeus Fordham and owner of Fordham Mercantile, meet Rebecca Rice. Or Mrs. Tad Fordham. Y’all are kissin’ cousins now.”

  Before Rebecca could faint from mortification, Theodore lunged at Tad.

  Tad dodged a half step to the right, just out of the path of Theodore’s fists. He didn’t brawl with strangers, and sure as his new Stetson Boss hat, he wouldn’t fight with kin. “Come on, now, Cousin. Let’s talk this through.”

  “Seems a little late to talk, Cousin.” The word dripped from Theodore’s tongue with more venom than a rattler’s fangs.

  Tad raised his hands in a gesture of peace, one that’d served him equally well working with horses and belligerent miners. “This is not what it looks like.”

  “Seems I heard that from you before.”

  Were they really going to do this, here, now? Tad’s gut sank. Behind Theodore, both Orr and the rangy fellow who’d witnessed the vows wore twin expressions of glee, as if they’d swap wagers if they weren’t in the presence of a lady. Rebecca’s mouth popped open as if she wished to speak but was waiting for something. Maybe for Theodore to really look at her, rather than glare at Tad. He dropped his hands. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

  “You took my bride. How else am I supposed to understand that?”

  “I had no idea you had a bride coming. Just as I did.” If they spoke once in a while, they could’ve awaited their brides together.

  “Yours wasn’t good enough, and you had to steal mine?” Theodore shook his head in disgust, but at least he wasn’t trying to tackle Tad anymore.

  Mr. Orr leaned toward Rebecca. “Ever had two men fight over you before?”

  “Whatever they’re fighting over, sir, I am confident it is not me.” Rebecca, stranger though she was to them, had already figured it out. And she shouldn’t have to see the two of them act like this.

  “You’re right.” Tad met her gaze. Such pretty eyes, clear as the creek on a windless day. She had pretty features, too, with a sprinkling of freckles over her nose and cheeks like gold dust, and a delicate frame that looked like she could use a few square meals. Her dainty lips, however, turned down in a frown. Some impression the Fordham boys made on her. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Once she nodded, he turned back to Theodore. “This is all a mistake. One we’re still trying to figure out. You can ask Orr and…your name’s Jones, isn’t it?” Tad tipped his chin toward the miner.

  “Yessir, Jeroboam Jones, I rented a mule from you a few weeks back to haul wood.” He focused on Theodore. “It’s true, Mr. Fordham, sir. When yer bride found out she got hitched to the deputy, she ‘bout near demanded a dee-vorce.”

  Theodore’s scowl relaxed a pinch, but Rebecca’s posture didn’t. She folded her hands over her middle like a schoolmarm. “Not a divorce. An annulment will do when the marriage is invalid.”

  Jeroboam leaned toward Orr and hid his mouth behind his hand, as if about to impart a secret. “Seemed valid to me.” The whisper wasn’t discreet. “That kiss was a scorcher.”

  Theodore’s glower deepened. Then he snuck an abashed look at Miss Rice—but now Mrs. Fordham—oh, just Rebecca.

  “All right.” Tad tossed Jeroboam two bits and gestured toward the door. The fellow had witnessed more than enough for today, and the story would no doubt be the talk of Ruby City by morning. “Thanks for your services.”

  J
eroboam’s face fell. “You’re sure you don’t need me no more?”

  “Quite.” Rebecca’s smile was polite.

  As the door shut, Orr patted Theodore on the shoulder. “They didn’t plan to marry the other. I mean, they did, and willingly too, but not the who—oh, I’m muddling this.”

  Rebecca stepped forward. “I thought I was marrying you, Theodore. When Mr. Orr said Tad, I thought he said Ted, and well, it sounds ridiculous now.”

  Theodore straightened the lapels of his coat and took a deep breath. “Maybe I’d better hear the whole story.”

  Tad leaned back against Orr’s desk. Did he look serene? He tried to, but inside, he was coiled tighter than an untried rope. “My intended, a gal by the name of Rebekah Rhys, was supposed to arrive a few days back. The second I heard there was a woman on the stage, I assumed it was she. And she had the right name.” Rebecca had looked right, too, blond, blue-eyed, and in her early twenties. As well-spoken as her letters, and his insides had gone soft as mush when he saw her. He’d thought—

  It didn’t matter what he’d thought or felt when he’d first seen her. Rebecca was claimed. And he had his own intended to think about now, too.

  Rebecca bit her lip. “I arrived and he was there to greet me, a Mr. T. Fordham waiting for a Rebecca.”

  Which begged the question, why hadn’t Theodore come running? The whole town would’ve known a gal stepped off the stage within five minutes. Where had Theodore been when Rebecca arrived, or in the hour since? Probably making a profit. There must’ve been a miner, flush with success, spending a wallop at Theodore’s store.

  Chiding himself for his uncharitable thoughts, Tad pushed off from the desk. “So what do we do now?”

  “We see the judge about an annulment, as Miss Rice said.” Theodore couldn’t meet Tad’s eyes. Intolerance still poisoned him, after all this time. “And then, if Miss Rice is still willing after the dreadful scene I’ve caused, I should like to marry her.”

  His look was contrite, Tad would give him that.